


Wasteland, Baby!

by reysrose



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clarke and Octavia deserve so much better and Niylah deserves so much more screen time, F/F, I threw canon in the garbage and set it on fire like I am not kidding, PTSD, Polyamory, Retconning literally 3 seasons of television - Freeform, and they're all like lit sounds cool, canon divergence after season 2, gay nerds, injuries, significantly under-discussed polyamory like it just happens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-01-24 14:05:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18573010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reysrose/pseuds/reysrose
Summary: Lincoln doesn’t survive the battle of the mountain, Octavia leaves Arkadia with Clarke, and Niylah is the one that helps them put the pieces back together.A collection of oneshots because plot is for closers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's me, starting another oneshot rarepair collection, because I have no self control. You all know what the title is from and if you don't I highly recommend you listen to the new Hozier album immediately

“It hurts,” Octavia mumbles, looking up at Niylah dazedly from the floor of the cave. Niylah knows it must; Octavia’s femur is fractured and Clarke had set it by hand with no painkillers. The black swelling of the flesh of Octavia’s thigh is angry and hot to touch, but they can’t go anywhere. Snow swirls in drifts across the entrance, and Niylah is worried Clarke won’t be able to get back to them. 

“I know,” Niylah soothes, wrapped around Octavia to keep her warm. The broken leg is propped on their packs, splinted with twigs and wrapped in a fur. Niylah tangles their fingers together as they lay there, Octavia trembling from cold and shock. Niylah wills Clarke to hurry up. Octavia tucks her face into Niylah’s chest miserably. 

“Make it stop.” 

“I can’t, love.” 

“Please,” Octavia whispers, fingers tightening around Niylah’s as a wave of pain rocks through her, “please.”

Clarke is the one who makes the decision to move her, three days later. Octavia’s thigh is webbed with shiny red veins, a fever burning her up even as snow whips around the mouth of their shelter. She’s in and out of consciousness, confused and tired and delirious when she is awake. She’s playing with Niylah’s fingers as Clarke finishes the makeshift stretcher, eyes glazed and unfocused. 

“Clarke, are you sure?”

“We can’t just let her die,” Clarke snarls, tying a knot viciously, “and Arkadia is the only place with medicine that can take this.” 

Octavia coughs suddenly, her head lolling to the side. Niylah braces her through it, smoothing her hair back. The blood and mucus in Octavia’s lungs are, according to Clarke, signs of a systemic infection. They look like a death sentence to Niylah. 

It takes nearly a day to get Octavia back to Arkadia, snow freezing in their hair and eyelashes. It melts where it rests on Octavia’s skin, streaking her flushed cheeks and greasy hair. Octavia twitches and moans beneath the furs covering her, too hot. One limp hand dangles from the edge and Clarke carefully tucks it onto Octavia’s belly. 

Octavia’s face twists with discomfort and panic as they approach the gates of Arkadia. 

“No,” she moans, trying to wriggle herself off the stretcher as they stop, allowing guards to swarm them. A few look at Clarke with distrust, a few look at Niylah with resentment. Niylah knows about the mountain, and she knows why Clarke and Octavia left Arkadia.  
“Yes, I’m Clarke Griffin-No- she needs medical care- Bellamy!” 

A man who can only be Octavia’s brother is striding through the gate, shoving through the guards surrounding them, and crushing Clarke into a hug. Clarke clings to him, pushing her face into his shoulder. The guards had forced them to lower Octavia’s stretcher to the snow and when Bellamy breaks from the hug, hand still resting between Clarke’s shoulder blades as she leans into him, his face darkens with fury. He drops to his knees beside his sister, smoothing sweaty hair back from her windburned cheeks. 

“Hey, O. Look at me.”

“Not real,” Octavia mumbles, turning her head away from Bellamy’s hand. He goes to pick her up but Clarke stops him. 

“Don’t. She fell, slipped on ice and broke the bone in her upper leg. I think it’s infected.” 

Bellamy nods, once, and then helps Clarke lift the stretcher up. Octavia’s hand falls over the stretcher, big green eyes begging Niylah to take it. 

She does.


	2. Loss and Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Octavia is an uncooperative patient and the Blake siblings remember just how much they mean to each other.

“How is she?” Bellamy murmurs, taking a chair next to Octavia’s cot. His sister’s chest rises and falls as she wheezes around breaths, oxygen tubes in her nose. When she’s conscious she puts up a fight about keeping the cannula on, keeping the IV in, even staying in the bed. Bellamy presses the back of his head to Octavia’s sticky forehead. It’s still warm, but not nearly as bad as it had been the past few days. She’s getting better. 

Clarke hums where she’s pressed along Octavia’s side, glancing briefly at Niylah, curled in a chair at the head of the bed and dead to the world asleep. 

“She woke up for about .2 seconds while you were getting food. She’s grumpy, but way more lucid. She told my mom to fuck off when she took blood, so she’s getting back to normal.”

Bellamy smirks, stroking a finger down his sister’s nose. Her eyes flutter open and her face immediately crinkles up in annoyance, the hand free of any tubing going to tug off the cannula. Clarke sighs.

“Do we really have to have this talk every time you wake up?”

Octavia coughs, mucus crackling in her abused lungs, and then grimaces when she shifts position. 

“Yes,” she wheezes, half smiling and half wincing up at Clarke. Clarke smiles down at her, taking Octavia’s hand and lacing their fingers. 

“You’re the one who got pneumonia, not me.” 

Octavia grunts, detangling her hand from Clarke’s to push herself to sitting. 

“Easy with that leg,” Bellamy snaps before he can stop himself. His sister rolls her eyes at him, leaning back against the pillows Clarke adjusted for her. 

“I’m fine, Bellamy.”

“Tell that to the pins holding your femur together.” 

Octavia rolls her eyes again, so hard Bellamy is convinced she can see her brain. Clarke has adjusted the bed to a reclining position and she and Octavia are tangled together like the litter of puppies Indra had brought them. Hunting dogs, she said, but Bellamy knows better. They’ll be pets. Clarke giggles as Octavia pokes her in the side, waking Niylah up. Niylah adjusts her chair to be closer, the bed too small for all three of them. 

All three of them. 

Octavia has lost so much in 17 years of living, and seeing her like this makes Bellamy’s chest ache. He doesn’t really understand the dynamic of the girls in front of him, but he understands that Octavia is loved. And that’s what matters. 

“I have to head to guard duty,” he says, leaning down to smack a kiss on his sister’s hot cheek. She’s starting to slide back towards sleep again, warm and safe where she’s pressed against Clarke, one hand wrapped around Niylah’s wrist loosely. 

He goes back that night so Clarke and Niylah can take a break. Octavia is awake but barely lucid, her cold little hand pressing against his cheek. 

“Bell,” she breathes, rolling her head to look at him. He squeezes her fingers. 

“You scared me so badly, O.”

His sister shrugs, playing with his fingers. 

“M’sorry I left.”

“I know.”

“No, Bell,” she slurs. He mentally checks her meds schedule and chalks it up to a fresh dose of morphine.

“I left you.” 

“You needed to go,” he soothes, brushing his hand over her back, “I know you did. But you always have a home here, all three of you. You know that, right?”

His sister nods, falling asleep. 

Bellamy sighs, taking in her pale face.

“I love you,” he whispers.


End file.
